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Topic Summary

Posted by: Shenmue654
« on: Yesterday at 04:20:55 AM »

Mar rolls his eyes as soon as Al comes into view and introduces himself to their new arrival. "Always have to be the center of attention, don't you Android? And you would think that of all people I would be attempting to acquire that honor." But he wasn't, and he doubt he had more than once in his time in this place. It was funny how things turned out.

"This idiot is more of a Fool than a social ambassador, although you could say on an ancestral level we actually share that distinction," says Mar, making a bit of a sweeping bow. "I go by plenty of names, milady, but my favorite for this setting happens to be Sanskrit. Mar. Now.." Mar pauses, and then sends a thought out to the Andalite. <How exactly did you come by this place?>
Posted by: Luke Skywalker (Ossanlin)
« on: July 20, 2017, 05:37:22 AM »

Ossanlin spares a stalk-eye for Mar, Al, and Salem as he waits for the female to respond.  His main eyes arch a bit as Salem speaks of a "cessation."  Inside, he wants to burst out laughing at the sheer madness of that suggestion, but the eye-twitch is the only visible reaction.  Salem surely isn't stupid enough to think that the Andalites would simply stop and allow the Yeerks to run rampant.  Such attrition would lead only to one end...the enslavement and destruction of the galaxy, Andalites included.  The Yeerks, for their part, are certainly no-more-likely to stop as they push ever outward, gobbling up planets and species as they go.  Which means that Salem is likely spinning a tale for some purpose...whether to try and dislodge information, or to try and throw Ossanlin off-guard...or for some other purpose entirely.  The man is nothing but ulterior motives.

<<This is all very entertaining, Salem...however, I would appreciate it if we moved past the mind-games and on to the true thrust of your verbal web.>>  His tone clearly demonstrates that he doesn't believe a word of what the trader is saying.
Posted by: Aluminator (Kit)
« on: July 19, 2017, 11:04:09 PM »

Al wanders to the top of the ship's ramp, his posture an exaggerated slouch that's completely at odds with his classy suit. He stands beside Mar, though perhaps not as closely as he'd stand to most people. When he spots the Andalite newcomer, he favors her with a goofy grin and a wave. "'Sup?" He shoots Mar a sidelong look and casually says, in a melodramatically haughty tone, "I'm a bit of a social ambassador."

Salem smiles to himself and slowly trails in Ossanlin's wake, still staying out of sight of whatever new Andalite has found her way here- he comes to a stop staring at Al and Mar, framed in the hatchway. <<That's true, from a strategic standpoint. Neither side is any more likely to be defeated now than they have been for years. I'm talking about a cessation of hostilities.>> He hesitates, then swallows. There's a lot of detail to go into, but he's still not convinced Ossanlin is a... safe resource. He'll see what the War-Prince makes of this little tidbit.
Posted by: Shenmue654
« on: July 19, 2017, 12:09:55 PM »

Mar waits at the top of the ramp for Ossanlin, listening as he makes a broadcast attempt to the stranger. Somehow it does not seem terribly likely that the lady actually has a ship. There is more than one way to reach this place, after all.
Posted by: Luke Skywalker (Ossanlin)
« on: July 10, 2017, 08:07:53 PM »

Ossanlin nods to Mar and gives Salem an odd look.  <<I assure you, the war is as far from over as it has ever been, despite what the propaganda says.  I would urge you not to trust Andalite public records if I thought it was any of your business...and that you weren't intelligent enough to rise above it already.>>  He adds grudgingly.

With that, he descends the ramp, searching the outside landscape with his main eyes, looking for the owner of the thought-speech voice.  <You are on a planetoid inhabiting a quantum-dimensional plane.>  Finally his eyes catch sight of the female.  <Where is your ship?>
Posted by: Aluminator (Kit)
« on: July 10, 2017, 12:24:36 AM »

Al turns at the sound of the thought-speak voice from outside. He wanders after Ossanlin, trailing at a respectful distance, and watches as Ossanlin begins doing something with the computer. Database search, maybe?

"She sounds troubled," he says to no one in particular, then nods sagely, as though he's just said something remarkably profound.

Salem, in the meantime, sighs and looks into the hole torn in the injured Seer. The network of blood vessels in there... and the slowly, slowly healing flesh around the outer edge... it's a transfixing scene. Blood pulses, in a slow rhythm, through what appears to be empty air. Life, where life should not be. Motion, when all motion should be naturally stilled...

He shakes his head. This is sort of the scene he's been hoping to avoid with Ossanlin. Distractions abound and it seems everyone needs the War-Prince's ear. It's always been this way with the War-Prince, though, so he supposes it shouldn't be that surprising.

And this, now, the Andalite's response... is Ossanlin being honest? Or is this the song-and-dance being played out by a member of Sector Seven... or whatever shadow organization they serve as a front for? His instinct tells him that Ossanlin is as honest an Andalite as he's likely to find... but if he's wrong on that count, revealing too much information to the War-Prince could lead to so much worse than just his own death. And if anyone else has connections he's unaware of...

He rubs his forehead, and pushes down the concerns of the headache that's developed since Al's heavy use of his implant. <<Something has changed, recently,>> he says, directing his thought-speak only towards Ossanlin. <<A subtle shift in the propaganda spread on the homeworld. A slow, steady tweak in the way the war is portrayed. And my... my sources lead me to believe that there's... more to it than that.>> He moves to where he can actually see Ossanlin's back, and catches one of the War-Prince's stalk eyes. He smirks. <<There's another factor in play. Something that wasn't there before. Something that might mean the end of the war...>> He trails off, trying to gauge Ossanlin's reaction.
Posted by: Shenmue654
« on: July 08, 2017, 08:52:45 PM »

Keshin glances sharply over at Yeden, and then returns to pretending to intently stare into the food on the table. He pauses. He doesn't know why the Councilor is asking this, and that fact alone bothers him.

<He could just be curious, Kess.>

<...yes, and probably that's all, but the man would have encountered hundreds of freelancers by now.>

"With great difficulty," Keshin finally says, with a slow smile. "Part of our requests to each of our clients is, you could say, 'a go' at their portable Yeerk pools and Kandrona supplies. When the clientele aren't as quick to appear..." Keshin's shoulders move up and around in an exaggerated shrug. "...you could say that we have our ways of getting access to food and resources." Those "ways" largely included stealing. Keshin imagined that the Councilor wouldn't particularly care about that. "Why do you ask?" It was better not to mention their chief expense.
<<I'd be glad to,>> Mar thinks warmly in response. Mar then looks up as Ossanlin notifies him to the presence of a stranger attempting thought speak communication with the ship. The voice read to Mar as "Andalite," but with a slight tinge to it he didn't exactly recognize. Mar nods at Ossanlin and tries to wrack his brain for where he's heard it, and then it comes to him. Ah. Female. Efaen. That's it. The stranger is a girl.

Mar waits to see what the War-Prince will do.
Posted by: Terenia
« on: July 04, 2017, 09:33:00 PM »

The Andalite's tail arches in surprise at the response. Despite her hopes, she hadn't actually expected anyone to be within the ship. She wasn't one to believe in ill-luck, but recent events had tested that opinion.

<Sir,> she says, using open thought-speak as she steps towards the ship, close enough to be heard clearly, but not near enough to board. <I require assistance. The ship I was on crashed. The crew...> She trails off, then straightens, quietly chiding herself for the wave of emotion that threatens to override her at the memory of the crash. Of waking up in a cabin filled with blue blood and acrid smoke.

<I don't know where I am,> she says. <Please, could you assist me?>
Posted by: Luke Skywalker (Ossanlin)
« on: July 02, 2017, 06:32:46 AM »

Ossanlin glances at Mar.  <<Yes...it is...unsettling.  Perhaps you would be able to provide me with some insights later.>>

He pauses, his main eyes moving back to Salem.  He squints a bit, his gaze sharpening to a razor's edge.  With the irritation and stress of the current situation, he'd spoken out of turn regarding Sector Seven.  It's unlikely this particular Salem knows much beyond the organization's intelligence cover...but Salem being Salem would've picked up on the obvious queue.  <It's hardly my business to look into the affairs of a simple intelligence-monitoring agency.  They do their job well enough.>  He pauses...perhaps giving the 'trader' a nugget involving the Homeworld would distract him from the untimely SS name drop.  <I've not been back to the Homeworld in some time...the life of a Dome Ship Captain and all.  But from what I've heard, it's much the same.  Yeerks are the root of all evil.  The Yeerks must be eradicated.  The Andalites are experiencing resounding victories.  The Andalites have all but won the war, just a bit longer...all those lovely propaganda themes ingrained so deeply into the population's psyche.>

He falls silent once again as a faint thought-speak voice pierces his head.  And then again, stronger.  It's obviously female, though little more is perceptible.  The simple assumption would be yet another Andalite, though of course thought-speech is hardly completely unique to Andalites anymore.  He moves to the Mirage's Flight Deck and commands the viewscreen on, trying to focus in upon the voice's location.  The viewer clearly shows a young, female Andalite.  Ossanlin furrows his brow as he begins a database search on the girl's identity.  He returns to the med-bay, glancing back again at Mar and Salem.  At the same time he directs a private thought in the female Andalite's direction.  <<Yes, there are people here.  State your business.>>
Posted by: Terenia
« on: June 30, 2017, 10:34:37 PM »

"Mm," Yeden says with a nod. "It is interesting how pervasive they're becoming. I suppose they do have a numbers advantage, though I'm still not entirely sold on them." He flexes his fingers experimentally.

He smiles at Keshin. "I'm sure I could share a few interesting tidbits," he says. "Though first I'd rather like to hear more about how you manage to surive on your own. It has to be...difficult."

The Andalite breaks her stillness, stepping towards the strange structure in front of her. She looks uncertain, until her main eyes land on one of the ships. It's like no ship she's seen before, but there is something distinctly familiar about it. Andalite.

<Hello?> she says again, with more determination as she steps closer to the ship. <Is anyone there?>
Posted by: Shenmue654
« on: June 24, 2017, 02:34:12 AM »

"I'd like to listen to any tidbits either of you two have," Keshin says with a knowing nod. "I doubt you'd tell me anything political, but I do imagine you have some idea of how the human side of the war is going? You see..."

Keshin picks up a sandwich from Yeden's pile and looks at him with a "Can I?" look on his face. "...I honestly haven't been on my host's home world in years. We pick up most of our supplies from space outposts nearby. The occasional planet stopover doesn't really give you much of an idea, you know? Which is ironic, because..."

Keshin gestures with his other hand at the two of them. "...so many Yeerks are human Controllers these days."
Jeffrey raises his glass and clinks it, taking a long hot sip of the drink the Bartender had prepared. Even though the supervillain had been vague, the Bartender had nonetheless managed to produce exactly what he was hunkering after--- A biting, frothy ale. Jeffrey breathes out the distinctive alcoholic stench with a grin. "Ahhhhh. Perfect. And you know what?"

Jeffrey smirks and bobs his head in a nod. "Yeah! In a sense. Well...eh..." Jeffrey makes a full roll of his shoulders when he shrugs this time, turning his lip down in a concerned frown. "...well sort of. Crazy is as crazy does. You're right--- I don't hide myself. I don't even think that I can anymore. But it's prrrooobbably best not to set off every idiot for a mile, you know what I mean? Like, ****, that blue deer guy reacted in like..." He held up four fingers and grinned. "Four flipping seconds! Four! Anyway..."

"So just how'd you even know him?" Jeffrey says while turning his whole body more toward Sorin. "Is it...juicy?" That last word is said with a twinge of genuine interest, and of course playful gossip-mongering. The man got far just by knowing people well.

That's when he hears a strange sound in his mind. He pulls up his posture a little bit and ****s his head to the right. "Say, uhh..." He spins around the index finger of his right hand and points over his head. "Didja hear that? Some really weird chick, outside. Saying hi? Am I hallucinating? I thought I couldn't do that to me."
Mar sighs and walks over to Nepek, folding his arms behind his back and peering down at him. The Hork'Bajir still seems a bit delirious as far as he can tell. His eyes are unfocused and vague, although his breathing seems to have leveled out for a being that had almost died. Mar puts his hand on the table and then looks over at Al for a second with a "This is all I've got" shrug.

"Can you hear me?" Mar says firmly and with no hint of slurred or fast speech. <It's okay if you can't speak. If you can hear either of my two voices move your left thumb. Focus on my voice. Try to make your mind think.> He taps his finger repeatedly on the table. The Hork'Bajir was likely better off in his healing process if he was able to wake up. Delirium had its advantages, but Mar imagined the Hork'Bajir did need slightly more alertness than this.
Posted by: Terenia
« on: June 18, 2017, 01:43:58 AM »

Andalites are typically graceful creatures, but there is nothing graceful in this. A thundering sound precludes the abrupt crashing of branches, followed by a tumble of purple fur. Skidding to a stop, she nearly trips over her own hooves, clearly near the edges of total exhaustion. Nose slits flare as she sucks in labored breaths, her sides slick with sweat.

Her main eyes widen at the abrupt appearance of the bar and shipyard, and for several long minutes she doesn't move. Then, tentatively, she calls out in public thought-speak.

Posted by: Aluminator (Kit)
« on: June 17, 2017, 10:13:08 PM »

Salem laughs in surprise at Ossanlin's comment- his shock draws his attention away from the mildly-concerning beginnings of a headache. Well, then, that answers my first question. "Not Lord-Commander, no," he says. His eyes sparkle and he smirks as he speaks. "But if you think that's a viable life goal, I may have a new career path ahead of me." He laughs at the sheer absurdity of that thought. Heck, getting an Andalite to even speak with him usually feels like an accomplishment, especially since what he's come to think of as his banishment from the homeworld.

He hesitates, glancing around the room, then stares hard at Ossanlin, thinking. There's probably a good chance Ossanlin himself is a member of Sector Seven. Heck, he's not even entirely sure how Sector Seven itself is organized. With as well as he knows Ossanlin- that is, not exceptionally well- he has reason to believe the War-Prince would back him up in his beliefs. He's not, however, willing to bet his own life on that fact, let alone the lives of those he cares about and the fate of the galaxy. He'll have to proceed cautiously.

"It does concern... Sector Seven, though." Even saying the words in front of this many people feels off. Taboo, somehow. At this point he's just following Ossanlin's lead. "Have you noticed anything... unusual about their movements lately? Anything changing? How about on the homeworld? Or among the people as a whole?"

Al shrugs at Mar. "I don't think so, but like I keep saying, I'm no doctor. Too many mixed drink recipes in here," he raps the side of his head, which gives off an unnervingly deep metallic thudding sound, "not enough medical knowledge. I may be fluent in over six million forms of dubstep, but I'm lucky if I know your face from your... like, secret second face." He pauses and looks around. "Humans have those, right?" He grins and looks back at Mar. "Anyway, man, feel free to have a look. I'd welcome informed suggestions, but there's nothing else to be done that I might suggest, I don't think."
Posted by: gh
« on: June 14, 2017, 01:03:49 AM »

"I probably shouldn't ask,"Guppy says with a light chuckle. "You at least have all the metal you need? I thought that freakin' blowtorch was gonna burn my face off all the way back here." He scratches at his chin. "I might have some Plexiglass something-or-another back at my ship. A friend of mine gave me a broken console that he salvaged, but the glass should be more than useable."

Sorin takes a sip of the hard cider that the BT provided, cringing at the faint yet unfamiliar taste of alcohol. "It's not really a matter of not being able to find him, more that our paths happened to cross here. What's wrong with capitalizing on the opportunity, right?"

He smiles and nods, as if he were trying to come up with the explanation for himself rather than Jeffrey. "Maybe I am a little ****ed up, who knows? But I'll own that, and it seems to me that you do, too." He raises his drink off the table and holds it up. "Ccrazier than Billy Corgan on acid. I'll drink to that," he says, following the toast with a large gulp of his cider.

Nepek nods slowly, taking care not to move too much. These strangers seem friendly toward the Hork-Bajir, even if their conversations are making no sense at all to his half-conscious, semi-delirious mind. He says nothing in heed of their advice and stays as motionless as possible, waiting for any sign of his fate. Life of death . . . it doesn't even matter to Nepek at this point, just as long as he can be certain of either.
Posted by: Terenia
« on: June 14, 2017, 12:24:20 AM »

Yeden flinches away from Jorek's touch, lips curling into the faintest of snarls.

"Yes, please discuss your business with the turelek in private," he says, giving the other Councilor a flat look. "As for me, I'm rather busy enjoying my meals."

He turns his gaze back to Keshin, smiling brightly and pushing a plate in his direction. While no new food is appearing, a large selection of options remain; enough to easily feed the entire bar, regardless of species. "While I entirely understand if you're intrigued by Garoff's offers to have me destroyed, I would far rather you indulge in meal with me. As for rumors...well. It all depends on the sort you like to listen to."